Nobody Said It Was Gonna Be Easy, Sam (Dean, That's Exactly What You Said)

by Junii338

Summary:

There's nothing better than a good old fashioned serial killer. A knife or bullet to the stomach and a clear motive, Gary shoots Lenny because he's sleeping with his wife- something like that.

Oh, how she missed clear motives...

OR

Sam and Dean are hunting a Werewolf, the FBI think they're hunting a ritualistic serial killer. What'll happen when they inevitably cross paths?

Notes:

This isn't exactly based during any particular seasons of either series but it's definitely after supernatural S3, this is just me messing around rlly

Chapter 1

There's nothing better than a good old fashioned serial killer. A knife or bullet to the stomach and a clear motive, Gary shoots Lenny because he's sleeping with his wife- something like that.

Oh, how she missed clear motives...

That wasn't something she ever thought she'd miss, and the BAU got enough requests to consult on freaky murders to entirely extinguish her hope of ever getting one of those TV advertised 'cut-and-dry' cases.

But seriously, Penelope was sick of these psychos and their sadistic torture methods. Does nobody kill the plain and simple way anymore? Although, she supposed she'd be out of a job if they did.

The rest of the team is already waiting in the conference room, annoyed grumbles about being called back into work so soon after leaving for the day cloud the air. Garcia clears her throat as she walks in, gaining the attention of the room.

"I know you're all huffing and puffing about your very short, almost nonexistent, break, but we've got a weird one. Weirder than usual." A couple of amused glances are thrown around before everyone settles down and Hotch gestures for Garcia to continue.

"Pine Prairie, Louisiana. Three vics over three months," Images of three young girls slide onto the screen, "Scarlett Prest, Maria Adams and Talia Wilcocks. All causes of death were the same, bleeding out from multiple lacerations to the chest and face." Another set of photos replace the previous ones, crime scenes and corpses lying in the morgue.

The group glance between their tablets and the screen, reading autopsy reports and statements from the local PD.

"Their... Hearts were missing?" Morgan murmurs in disbelief, Garcia knows it's not a question, not really, but she answers it anyway.

"Yes, that would be the 'weirder than usual' part, all three girls seemed to have their hearts torn clean out of their chests." Garcia shudders and turns away from the screen, looking around at the agents in front of her instead.

"Definitely overkill. The vics could be substitutes for the real object of the unsubs rage." JJ pipes up, "He could've been hurt by a woman in his life and now he's trying to get revenge."

"He could be keeping the hearts as trophies, something to remember the kills by." Hotch adds, focusing his attention on his tablet. Garcia watches him flick back and forth between the photos of the three young women, Rossi leaning over his shoulder despite having his own tablet, both frowning as if they've noticed something they wish they hadn't.

"Do we know how the hearts were removed? It almost looks like it was done by hand but the sheer strength needed to dig into someone's chest and tear out something like that is near impossible to achieve." Rossi's attention focuses back on Garcia once he's finished talking, she nods and fiddles around with her own tablet for a second, sharing more images with the large screen.

This time they're close up shots of the women's chests, or rather, the lack of.

"It's possible the unsub used a serrated knife or some other jagged blade to cut away the flesh and then did the remaining work by hand." Garcia says, reading the autopsy report from the pathologist.

"Maybe he feels like his heart had been 'torn out' by a lover or even a female family member so he's doing the same to others since he can't act on his desired victim." JJ's voice is dripping with discomfort and Garcia doesn't blame her, the victims share a startling resemblance to their own blonde haired agent.

"There was no sign of sexual assault on any of the bodies, in all honesty the murders look rushed and uncontrolled but the slashes to the face could be some kind of forensic countermeasure." Morgan offers, a look of disdain etched into his eyebrows.

"It could also be some kind of ritual, all the attacks happened on the night of a full moon, many cultures believe the moon holds great power and control. Garcia, when's the next full moon?" Although he asked the question, Reid's attention is directed elsewhere, perhaps already looking for the answer himself.

"That would beeee..." She trails off, staring at the website before her.

"Garcia? What is it?" Hotch's voice is stern and commanding, she looks up at him instinctively.

"The next full moon is on Thursday, three days from now." The whole team wince simultaneously, a case like this can take a while to solve, if they can't catch their killer in time then they might have fourth body on their hands and no trail or leads for another month.

"If this is some kind of ritual then our unsub won't be deterred, and he won't break his pattern. We have three days to catch this guy, wheels up in thirty."

Hotch is out of the room before he's finished talking.

------

"Sammy, I think I found us a case. Pine Prairie, Louisiana, three stiffs over the last three months with their hearts ripped out." Dean slides the laptop over to his brother, tapping the screen to get Sam's attention. The younger man looks down at the news article Dean had pulled up, his eyes skimming over the details quickly.

"You're right, sounds like they got a werewolf problem." Sam nods along as he talks, his voice sounding disheartened and flat. Dean's stare feels like it burns holes into his skull, when Sam finally glances up from the screen he's met with one of those 'big brother' looks that he's been getting acquainted with recently due to his, quote on quote, bitch fits.

Dean's words not his.

"What's up with you? You've been sulking like a little girl ever since we got back from that Wendigo hunt in Illinois."

"I just- I don't see how you can be thinking about hunting werewolves right now. We've kind of got bigger fish to fry if you hadn't noticed."

"Sam, we've been over this, nobody has any idea which seals are gonna break next, not even the angels. We just gotta sit tight and keep hunting whatever evil bastards we can, okay?" Dean's voice is raised, frustrated and tinged with desperation, he needs to get his mind off the whole Lillith thing, needs to do something normal (or as normal as things get for the Winchesters) like gank a couple werewolves and then move somewhere else, to another shitty motel, and do it again.

Sam notices of course, he'd spent years analysing and looking up to his brother. Dean's getting twitchy now, an urge crawling underneath his skin to find something to kill and let off a bit of steam, he'll be unstable and hostile with everyone he comes into contact with if Sam doesn't agree to this.

"What about-" Sam doesn't even get to finish his question before Dean cuts him off.

"Cas isn't answering. I tried calling and, man I even prayed, but it's radio silence on his end. Let's just take this job to pass the time if nothing else." The anger that previously shone through Dean's words has fizzled out, all that's left now is an almost reserved sort of plea.

Sam hates that defeated look in his brothers eyes, it's out of place on the face of someone usually so eager and passionate. Well, it's not like killing monsters is ever a bad thing, and this village really does sound like it has a problem.

"Yeah okay, you're right, lets go kill this sucker." An easy smile slips onto Sam's face, he pushes up from his seat at the tiny desk and walks towards Dean, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes, not missing the relieved grin he gets in return.

"Well then my friend, get packing, we should try to leave tonight." Dean's already grabbing his clothes from his bed and shoving them messily into a dark green duffle bag, followed by a couple guns and knives.

"Right on, brother." Sam replies, playing up a strong Texas accent to pull a laugh from the older man. It works, and for a minute, everything feels normal again.

Dean hesitates for a second, "Actually, I'm gonna shower before we leave, looks like a couple days drive ahead of us." He announces, halting his packing to head into the tiny bathroom attached to their room. He pauses in the doorway, sticking his head around like a meerkat, "Should I save you some hot water?"

After a nod of approval from Sam, Dean is off into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him which does nothing to mute the sound of him pattering around behind it.

Sam perches on his bed, pistol in hand, and listens to the water running just a couple metres from him. Dad had always taught them to stay vigilant, to have someone on guard at all times - especially when the other was vulnerable, like in the shower. Sam had no doubt that when it was his turn to wash, Dean would be sitting on his bed too, holding a gun and listening out for every little noise.

"Sammy!" Sam's at the bathroom door before he can blink, "Could you be a dear and grab me some towels? I think I threw them in with my clothes." A sheepish chuckle follows the confession, Sam rolls his eyes but hollers an affirmative and begins to nosy through Dean's duffle, searching for the towels.

Sam knocks a couple times on the door before pushing it open, navigating through the thin sheen of steam that swamps the room and stopping just outside the shower. Dean pokes an arm and a head out from the curtain, a silly grin on his face as he grabs the towels from Sam.

"You're welcome, now hurry up and get out, I wanna hit the road." Sam mutters in response to the silence, he gets a giddy sounding laugh in return as he shuffles back out the bathroom.

His shower is much less eventful, a quick act of hop in, wash what you need and then hop out. Sam's towels are where he left them, along with a pile of clean clothes which he swiftly puts on. Ruffling his hair dry, he re-enters their room and starts to pack things into his own bag.

The brothers work in silence around each other for a while, grabbing their respective belongings and tucking them away next to rolls of clothing, books (Sam) and far more weapons than necessary ((Dean) although he'd swear up and down that you can never have too many weapons).

Once the room has been cleared out entirely, Dean checks out while Sam heads to the Impala, lobbing their bags in the back seat and clambering into the front. Dean joins him a couple minutes after, starting the engine and switching the radio on to fill the silence.

"Pine Prairie is a village, right?" At Sam's answering nod, Dean continues, "They must be freaked right now, having their folks dropping like flies."

All Sam can offer is a non committal him, already lost in thought. This will just be an easy hunt to let Dean work out some energy, then they can get back on Lilliths trail and stop her opening any more seals.

Right?

Chapter 2

Notes:

I can remember how Sam's hair looked in s4 but for my sake I'm pretending it's his early seasons haircut bc it's cute

The Winchester brothers pass the borders into Louisiana just after four in the morning, and after that it's only another couple hours drive to Pine Prairie so it's about seven o'clock when they arrive.

The small village only just breaches a thousand residents, enclosed by thick woodlands and encircling a large body of water- the locals call it Crooked Creek; it's also where all the bodies have been found so far. Sam locates a motel just a couple miles from the police station, and is dropped off there to book them a room while Dean takes the Impala to get them some food.

It doesn't take long for the pair to be reunited and situated in their grimy room, the bedframes look almost rusty and the carpet is faded in some places where someone tried, and failed, to lift a stain. But overall, it's not the worst place they've stayed at, that would have to be the one in New Jersey where the bathtub actually looked like it was stained with a waterline of blood (they'd called the police immediately after leaving).

"How're we playing it this time? Reporters? FBI? Something a little more obscure...?" Dean questions around a mouthful of burger, grease smudging against his chin (Sam fights with the oddest urge to wipe it away), sounding far more excited about the future disguises than he should've.

FBI was usually the best bet for small towns and villages, they weren't used to major law enforcement and seemed more susceptible to giving up information on the case, reporters and journalists just got angry threats. Sam gave voice to his thoughts, watching Dean's face scrunch up in contemplation before relaxing again.

"Alrighty then, Feds it is!" He exclaims, abandoning his meal and rubbing his hands roughly on his jeans before rooting through his bag to find the folded up grey and black suits they packed specifically for this reason.

Sam catches the jacket, shirt and trousers thrown at him, quickly exchanging his comfortable traveling clothes for the new outfit while Dean continues searching through their things for a couple of ties.

Dean stops Sam before he puts on the jacket, folding up the collar of his shirt to carefully loop a tie around his neck. The closeness brings Sam a unique sort of comfort, when Dean went to hell almost eight months ago Sam didn't think he'd get him back. Nothing he tried seemed to stick and after a while it was all Sam could do to just keep on living.

Being back in the presence of his older brother has him feeling more content than he has been in a while, of course he'd never tell Dean any of that- Dean had enforced a 'no chick flick moments' rule just a couple weeks after he'd returned.

Apparently he could sense Sam's sentimentality.

Sam is so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't realise that Dean has started talking as he twists and knots the tie.

"One of us should check out the bodies first, see what we're dealing with." He meets Sam's gaze but when he catches the incredulous look he's being given, he refocuses on the task at hand, "Better safe than sorry."

While Sam doesn't disagree with him, it's unusual for his brother to be so careful.

A thought worms it's way into Sam's mind before he can stop it; Dean knows that if he dies again then he'll be going straight back to hell. The older man swears he doesn't remember a second of his trip downstairs but Sam knows better, he sees the haunted look in his eyes when he thinks Sam isn't watching, it says everything that Dean refuses to.

"Sounds good, you do that and I'll hit up the local station to check what they've already compiled on the case." Sam agrees, smiling down at his brother.

Dean takes a step back to admire his handiwork, patting Sam on the chest and going back to the table by the window to finish his food. The chair wobbles as he drops himself into it, one leg clearly being shorter than the rest.

Dean's own suit is resting on the bed closest to the door, two fake ID's lying next to it; Agents Daniels and Page, both Sam and Dean's faces are printed in a neat square next to the names in that order and Sam spends a few moments staring at them- struck by the surrealism of it all; they'll flash these badges at someone like they do day-after-day, and nobody will have a clue that they're fake.

Unless they run into real FBI, Sam hides a grin behind his hand at the thought, that would be just their luck, wouldn't it?

"We've gotta come back here some time, these burgers are amazing." Dean groans out from his seat, unaware of Sam's musings.

"Let's just focus on the job. You know we have to actually leave before we can come back, right?"

Dean mumbles something about Sam being a smart-ass but takes a final slurp of his overly caffeinated drink and jumps up from his chair, moving over to his suit with a few large strides. He changes clothes quickly, stripping off his t-shirt and complaining that the large handprint shaped burn on his bicep is ruining his ability to wear tank tops.

Sam has been on the receiving end of these rants a couple times already, apparently having an angel literally branding you is a huge turn off for the ladies.

Personally Sam finds it hilarious. And sort of ridiculous because, handprint or not, Dean has still managed to charm his way into at least one women's pants on every hunt they've been on so far, making up for lost time according to the older man.

"Let's get rolling, Agent Daniels!" Dean says cheerfully, already sauntering towards the door, keys in hand. Sam rolls his eyes in exasperation but follows his brother out of the room.

The drive down to the station is a short one, Dean spends the twenty-ish minutes blasting Metallica despite Sam's insistence that they should at least attempt to look professional. Actually, knowing Dean, it's probably because of Sam's insistence that he was actually so immaturely. As soon as Sam is out of the car, Dean gives him a good natured whack around the back of the head through the open window and speeds off.

As Sam walks into the police station, rubbing his now aching head and grumbling about his jerk of a brother, he gets the immediate sense of something being very wrong.

There's far too many people here for such a small village, a room branching out from the side of the building has been cleared.

Through the open door Sam can see that it's empty of everything but a large table with a map on it, a set of chairs stacked in the corner, a portable whiteboard barely visible beneath the slathering of crime scene photos, and most notably; a brunette man dressed strikingly similar to a librarian staring at the images. His gaze flicks between the whiteboard and the map splayed out on the table.

Sam doesn't like this at all.

One of the officers notices Sam and dismisses himself from the conversation he was having to weave through the crowds of people and over to the younger Winchester.

"Can I help you with anything, Sir?" He asks, eyebrows furrowed into a tight frown. Sam produces his badge in response.

"I'm Agent Daniels, I'll need to see your files on the recent murders." His 'official' voice is never one he enjoys using, it makes him feel like a total dick.

"Your team didn't share it with you? You FBI folk need to communicate better." The officer says with light hearted scorn, oblivious to Sam's sudden spike of adrenaline.

This obviously isn't the first time they've collided with federal agents but they're usually on opposite sides of a hunt (as in Sam and Dean are typically the ones being hunted) so it's a bit different, they've somehow never been in danger of actually having to properly interact with the guys. What on earth are they meant to do now?

Sam forces an awkward laugh as he trails after the man, he grabs a file from behind the counter and hands it over to Sam, pointing over to the small room occupied by the skinny figure he can now identify as FBI. Luckily the man in question is entirely focused on his task and doesn't seem to have noticed Sam's entrance.

"That's where your friends have set up, make yourself comfortable."

"I've got to meet with the rest of the team first but thank you for your time, and the file." Sam says, waving the papers in question and trying desperately to not let his nerves show through his carefully made facade as he briskly walks to the door and ducks through the entrance, praying that the Agent standing just a couple yards away from him doesn't look up through the open door.

Dean was going to hate this.

 

------

 

The plane ride to Louisiana had been as quiet as usual to begin with, both Morgan and JJ had earphones plugged in and were staring out of the windows, looking to be in deep thought. Rossi had, for some reason, decided to challenge Reid to a game of chess which ended the way everyone expected it to but now Rossi was pretending to sulk in the corner, causing Reid to glance over at him every few seconds in mild concern.

Hotch had a look of quiet contemplation on his face, reading the case files front to back until he was notified that there was only half an hour until landing.

The team gather together to review what they already know and then call in Garcia who, following Hotchs orders, had spent the last couple hours searching for any possible connection between the victims.

"Garcia, what have you got?"

"Nothing of any use, Sir. I've checked through school registrations and any activities outside of education, there's absolutely zero link between the vics. They don't even know each other online!" Garcia's voice lacks it's usual enthusiasm, instead it's smothered with the grim tone of defeat.

The words send a different sort of silence rippling through the team, it's not startlingly unusual for victims to have no connections but if they really are looking at some kind of ritual then it's expected for there to be a specific type of person being 'sacrificed'. So far, apart from the eerily similar appearances, there's nowhere they've crossed paths, so how is the unsub finding them?

"Are there any people that are present in all of their lives? Maybe a family friend or ex-boyfriend?" Hotch prompts but Garcia just shakes her head again, looking put out.

"There's nothing I've found so far but I'll keep looking, hit me up if you need anything else!" She signs off with a click of her keyboard, leaving the plane feeling emptier and the frowns looking deeper than before.

"Morgan and Rossi head to the latest crime scene once we land. JJ and Reid, you're with me, we'll set up at the station and get in contact with the victims family." Hotch's voice is as steady and firm as always, something that manages to bring a small glimmer of comfort to the group.

The rest of the flight goes by relatively quick, everyone too preoccupied thinking about their tasks to talk much.

After landing, the team split up as previously discussed, Morgan and Rossi sharing a ride to the thick forest area surrounding Crooked Creek. It's not a long drive since the vehicle can only get them so far before they have to abandon it and treck down the well-trodden path on foot, weaving between clusters of towering green trees and knee high bushes.

It's no surprise that the walk to the taped off parameter lasts more than twice as long as the car ride. When the Agents finally reach the scene and duck under the yellow tape, they're both slightly out of breath.

"Our unsub has gotta be familiar with this place, coming all the way out here to dump a body is a lot of work." There's a light sheen of sweat coating Morgan's skin, the moisture causing it to glitter in the late morning sun.

"I don't think he's dumping them here Morgan, I think this is where he's killing them." Rossi counters, carefully walking around and pointing to a distinct stain of blood smeared into the mud. "Look, there's no drag marks or any other disturbances of the area."

Morgan pauses where he is to look at the area of land Rossi is pointing to before pulling out his phone, it rings twice before someone on the other end picks up.

"Hey baby girl, is there anyone in charge of maintaining the trails through the forest?" Rossi gives him an appraising look, nodding to himself as he continues to wander around and look over anything that might've been missed during the initial sweep of the scene.

"As a matter of fact there is! If you continue on for a couple dozen yards from where you are, you'll reach a maintenance building which should be able to get you what, or who, you need."

"Thank you, Princess." Morgan knows his voice is undeniably fond, he also knows Rossi is looking at him again, he's been with the BAU for a couple months now but it seems it'll take a while longer for him to get used to Morgan and Garcia's 'unprofessional' relationship.

"Anything for you, my dashing knight." The smile is evident in Garcia's voice as she once again clicks off the call and leaves her team to their own devices.

Rossi has an amused smile playing on his lips but doesn't comment, just gestures forward with his hand.

"Lead the way, dashing knight."

Only a couple miles away from the pair is the rest of the group, they've reached the station and have gotten themselves mostly settled.

It's difficult to get even a second of privacy here, there's always an officer barging through the door to the small office they're occupying; either out of curiosity or a genuine lack of knowledge that the FBI were there.

JJ had sorted out a time for Hotch and herself to visit each of the victims parents, Reid had volunteered to hang back and work over the files and geographical profile which the other two Agents had agreed to fairly quickly. Reid wasn't known for being overly sociable at the best of times.

So off they went, easily locating the first of three houses due to the eager young police officer by the name of Thomas Brown that had been sent to accompany them to replace Reid. The lack of any previous FBI envolvement had made the town almost jumpy when it came to the idea of letting any of the team go somewhere alone.

The parents of Scarlett Prest were as helpful as a grieving family could expect to be, vehemently denying any suggestion of their daughter being involved in any dangerous organisations or groups that could explain the odd victim pool. JJ led the majority of the conversation, gently prodding for anything that could be of any use to the case.

"Agent Jareau, I do not appreciate what you're insinuating about our daughter." Mrs Prest's voice was intense and, had her cheeks not been streaked with tears, might have intimidated a lesser man.

However, the couple did give up one name near the end of the interview. Martin Appleton, a very disapproved of ex-boyfriend.

"We had Scarlett break up with him immediately after he got a tattoo." Hotch and JJ share a look, and Mr Prest catches it.

"It was nothing like that, we had no issues with the tattoo itself but... It gave him a sort of confidence boost and he didn't seem to care for our darling girl any longer." He finishes off his wife's sentence, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders as her eyes fill with tears threatening to spill.

"When you say he didn't care for her, what do you mean by that?" JJ's tone turns impossibly softer, as if she's trying to cradle the parents through words alone.

"We think he hit her, she never explicitly told us but we both just sort of... Knew, I suppose." Mr Prest answers, seeming close to tears himself, his eyes glazing over with a distant sadness.

Hotch didn't need to hear any words to know that they were dismissed.

"Thank you very much for your time, we'll update you on any progress we make with the case." JJ tries and fails to meet their gaze as she speaks, only receiving a slow nod in return. She turns to Hotch as he makes his way to the door and quickly follows him out, alongside the silent accompanying officer.

"We should head back to the station before checking on Maria's family, see how Reid's doing with so many people around." Hotch suggests, they hadn't been gone an awfully long time but it was probably long enough for Reid to irritate an officer into shooting him.

Officer Brown takes the lead on the way back, apparently getting his voice back after leaving the company of the Prests, so the short trip back is spent listening to the endless chatter of the chubby man. JJ has tuned him out at this point, leaving Hotch to half heartedly respond to whatever he's saying.

Maybe it's because she's not paying any attention to the men by her side that JJ spots the absolute giant walking their way, his short brown hair fluffed out behind his ears in a way that looks almost childish. It's cute. He side steps awkwardly around the trio, muttering a quick apology and continuing on his way, hurriedly marching down the pavement with his head down.

The group reaches the station shortly after the small interaction and are met with the sight of a relieved police chief, he ushers them over the threshold of the building and jokingly stage whispers to them.

"How do we turn him off?" He's pointing in the general direction of their wonder boy which causes JJ to laugh. Hotch shares a tiny grin and looks towards Reid, gesturing him over to them once he catches the younger man's gaze.

Reid practically skips over, clearly glad to see some familiar faces swimming in a sea of the unknown.

"Oh right! You just missed one of your other men, Agent Daniels? Very uptight guy." The chief chuckles to himself, oblivious to the sudden stillness of the Agents. When he turns to them and their similar looks of confusion he pauses. "I didn't mean to offend you lot or nothing, I'm sure you've all got a lot on your plates." He says quickly, taking their lack of reply as offence.

"What did he ask for?" Hotch demands, the question and tone shock the officer into silence and now the group get front row seats to watching the look of nervousness slip into one of concern.

"You mean he wasn't with you?" A glare from Hotch has him swiftly answering the question, "He just asked for a copy of the files."

"When did he leave?" JJ does not envy this guy right now, being the object of Hotch's scrutiny is a painfully intense thing.

"Just a minute ago I swear, you should've seen him walk past you actually." The officer assures them.

The group seem to arrive at the same conclusion within a matter of seconds, eyes widening in realisation. The man that had passed them just moments before!

JJ immediately runs back through the doors, Hotch and Reid close behind her. They scan the streets but there's no sign of the man, they'd have to check the system to be sure but if another Agent was assigned to the case then Hotch should've been notified which just leaves the question...

Who the hell is Agent Daniels?

Chapter 3

Notes:

This is just the spn POV because it ended up longer than I planned so next chapter will be criminal minds POV for how they ended up where they were in this chapter... If that makes any sense.

"Dean, this is bad!" Sam bursts through the door of their motel room, distress evident in his voice and body language. A similar look of anxious anticipation crosses onto Dean's face as he reaches for his gun, he'd changed out of his suit, now dressed in his typical jeans and t-shirt.

"What? Sam, what is it?" Dean's voice is loud as his eyes frantically search Sam's body for wounds, anything that could elicit this level of panic from his little brother.

"The FBI, we have to g-" It's clear Dean catches on to what Sam is about to say from the way his expression turns slowly from alarm to frustration, he cuts Sam off before he can even finish the suggestion.

"We're not leaving, Sammy. We started a job here and we're going to finish it." The sternness in his tone is enough for Sam to realise he's somehow losing a fight that hasn't even begun. But still, he has to try.

"Did you not hear me? Dean, it's the FBI. If they realise we're here and y'know, alive, then it's not gonna end well." Sam pressed on with an edge of desperation to his words. He wasn't going to let anyone take Dean away again, neither death nor prison, so he was going to do everything he could to ensure that they never got separated. Even if that meant bailing on a job.

"People are dying here, we can't just turn tail and run because the Feds rocked up. As soon as we gank this bastard then we can leave but. not. yet." Dean punctuated the last words with three sharp prods to Sam's chest, his face set in determination.

"We could call another hunter to help! Ones that maybe aren't on the list of America's most wanted." To say Sam didn't know he was using his 'puppy dog' look would be incorrect, but to say he could consciously stop it happening would be also be wrong. All he could do was watch as Dean's face twisted in clear deliberation, breathing slowly before making his decision with a shake of his head.

"I'm going out, you stay here and do... Whatever it is that you do when I'm not around." Dean said firmly, pocketing his keys off the small wobbly table and pointedly not looking at Sam as he grabbed his jacket.

Sam couldn't help the thrum of nerves that shuddered through him at that, part of him suddenly aching to apologise; to tell Dean that he wasn't serious about leaving, to beg him to stay. But Dean was already out the door. Sam sent a silent prayer to Cas, asking him to watch over Dean but like all the other times the brothers had attempted communication, there was no reply.

All that there was for Sam to do now was pace around the motel room, glaring at the suit thrown haphazardly over one of the beds like it was the clothing's fault that this was all going wrong.

Unless...

It wasn't particularly tricky to find out which bar Dean had wound up in, after all there was only one in the village that was near enough to where they were staying. Dean never liked to travel far for a drink when he was in a bad mood so a depressing looking place called 'The Lucky Trickster' was Sam's best bet.

Sam had the sense to change into his usual clothes before leaving to follow his brother. It was unlikely, but if the FBI ended up searching for him then his suit would stand out like a sore thumb, so jeans and Carhartt jacket it was. Dean only had about a thirty minute head start so Sam walked slowly to the bar, it would be easier for him to avoid Dean's watchful eyes if he'd already got a couple drinks in him- either that or if he was chatting up some unsuspecting women. Sam couldn't help his lip curling in distaste at the thought.

After around fifteen minutes, Sam reached his destination. The building looked as run down as it had done on the website; the reddish brown brick walls were chipped in more places than not and any splodges of paint used to cover the crude graffiti art dotted around were peeling off in wide strips. Neon green and yellow lights flashed on a large sign above the door, shamelessly presenting the name of the establishment.

Without much else to do, Sam took what was probably going to be his last breath of clean air for a while, and headed inside.

The interior was nothing less that what Sam expected, plumes of thick cigarette smoke hit him the second he opened the door, stinging his eyes and momentarily clouding his vision. The walls beyond the literal smokescreen were poorly wallpapered with a deep navy blue, any gaps with the potential to show the brick work behind the papery facade had been messily coloured in with blue marker pen.

Sam took a couple tentative steps inside, carefully navigating his way through the surprisingly large crowds of people.

Staying on the lookout for Dean whilst also trying to hide from him was a difficult task but by now Sam had confidence that Dean would be a couple beers into clumsily seducing the object of his attention for the night, somehow still managing to charm everyone around him.

Sam had originally thought that the carpet of the bar had been a plethora of colours, maybe they were going for an abstract look, but the further in he went the clearer it became that the floor was meant to be a soft grey and had instead been muddied with all kinds of stains in different sizes and colours (some more suspicious looking splotches had Sam's feet dancing around them awkwardly).

Stopping just before reaching the bar top, Sam focused his attention on the numerous stools in front of it. More specifically, the men sitting on those stools. He was searching for an eye-catching head of dark blonde hair and a brown leather jacket, so honestly it didn't take him long to spot Dean.

As suspected Dean was situated next to a women who looked just his type; slender, blonde and drop dead gorgeous. There was an empty beer bottle in his hand and although he had definitely taken notice of the women, he didn't seem to have struck up a conversation just yet. Sam's gaze flicked around the room, swiftly finding a seat within earshot of any future bad pickup lines while also keeping him mostly out of sight, hidden behind a group of frat boys playing pool.

Sam watches closely as the bartender approaches Dean for what was probably the third or fourth time that evening, hips swaying and hair swishing in a ponytail that ends just below her shoulders. Her almond eyes land on Dean, and Sam sees the appreciative look she sends his way.

"Can I get you anything else, Agent?" Sam barely refrains from rolling his eyes, the teasing lilt in the women's voice was so far from being subtle that Sam didn't doubt that the whole bar could hear it. Dean lifted his head from where it had been drooping, some spark inside him kicking back into action at the sight of the bartender. Distantly, Sam noted the odd reaction of the blonde next to Dean, the flash of confusion on her delicate features.

"I didn't expect to get caught out so soon, what gave it away?" Although watching his brother work his magic was definitely entertaining, Sam's attention had been diverted to the women next to him, she seemed familiar somehow but Sam just couldn't place it.

"You have a look, like you've seen some things." Dean muffled a tired chuckle with his hand, she had no idea.

"You're FBI?" The blonde women interrupted, sounding like the question had burst out without much thought. It was at that moment that Sam realised why she looked familiar, she had been walking the group of Agents he'd seen. She was FBI, real FBI.

Sam felt his stomach sink. But all he could do was watch and pray Dean didn't
dig himself into a deeper mess.

"Sure am, not a fun gig." Dean replied easily, blissfully unaware of Sam's growing unease.

"What team are you on?" The question seemed to surprise Dean, for the first time since the conversation begun he turned to fully look at the Agent. Not many people actually care about the specifics when they're told something like that, so Dean's shock was not unwarranted.

"Major crime investigation." His tone was amused, like he knew that the situation was strange but was a little too tipsy to care. Sam wanted nothing more than to march up there and tear his brother away, but that would be suspicious, and weird, and then Dean would know he'd been following him. So Sam stayed frozen where he was, desperately hoping Dean would suddenly realise what was happening and leave.

Before the women could say anything else, a brunette man rushed over and Sam's internal cursing got ten times louder. Why did they have such awful luck? The Agent from the station was now hovering awkwardly next to his friend, seeming like he wanted to say something. Then he spotted Dean, and everything went downhill from there.

The look on the skinny man's face screamed 'panic' for just a few seconds before the expression was washed clean and replaced by a look of faux calm.

"Hey JJ, could you come with me a second? I need some air." The man's voice was carefully even, but one look at Dean made it blindingly obvious that he had caught the flash of fear on his face, the recognition.

The female Agent, JJ, looked puzzled but stood up to lead her friend out of the bar. Sam almost thought that was the end of it; that now he could grab Dean and they could make a run for it, but Dean never made things easy for them and so Sam watched as he slid off his stool and quickly followed the pair outside.

Sam stayed seated, if there were any other Agents in the building then he should try not to draw suspicion to himself even if his mind was screaming to run after Dean. At least one of the brothers had to be logical right now.

Dean's footsteps were quiet, unhurried, this wasn't the first time he'd needed to follow someone without being noticed and it wouldn't be the last. The pair in front of him were walking fast, Dean could see JJ's lips moving but it was too loud to hear what she was saying, he'd just have to wait until they got outside.

They all exited the bar, Dean staying a dozen steps behind them, hiding himself in a flush of people walking past and slipping behind a large bin- giving himself a clear view of both Agents and the door to the building, keeping an eye on it in case anymore of their team strolled out.

"Reid, you okay? You're looking kind of pale." JJ ducked her head to catch Reid's eyes, her eyebrows furrowing and painting her face with concern.

"Do you know the man you were talking to in there?" Reid's voice was a stark contrast to his friends, urgent and panicked enough to get unease kicking around JJ's veins too.

"What? No, he said he was FBI though, I didn't think we had anymore Agents working this case."

"We don't, he's not FBI." Dean felt his blood run cold, did he know? How? Surely him and Sam would've been taken off any wanted lists once they 'died'. Dean supposed that didn't really ensure they wouldn't be recognised, but it should've definitely made it more difficult.

"Reid you're not making much sense here, if he's not FBI then what is he?" JJ's words had taken on a similar tone to the other Agents, worried with a slightly frantic edge to them.

"Not what, who. Dean Winchester, him and his brother were at the top of the wanted list for quite a while but got taken off when they were pronounced dead." Ah crap, Dean really needed to start paying more attention to the people he spoke to, seems just about anyone could be a Fed these days.

"So you're saying we're dealing with a dead man?" Although she still sounded cautious, JJ's expression was one of incredulity, as if she didn't really believe what she was hearing.

"I'm saying I don't know what we're dealing with, but if Dean's here then it's likely Samuel is too." Dean felt himself frown at that, it was one thing for Dean to be found out but he wouldn't let them get to Sammy, no way.

Maybe he was more drunk than he thought, or maybe his mind was just too clouded over with the need to protect Sam, but either way he definitely shouldn't of done what he did. If he'd at least thought it out a little more then maybe he'd have seen what a colossal mistake he was going to make.

Throwing caution to the wind, Dean stepped out of his hiding place in the shadows, untucking his gun from the waistband of his jeans and creeping up behind the Agent he could now identify as Reid. It only took a couple steps and by the time JJ had noticed what was happening; her eyes widening and her hand flying to her own gun, Dean had already clapped hand on Reid's shoulder, keeping him still while pressing the muzzle into his back.

The next few seconds seemed to play out in slow motion. Sam walking out of the building, turning his head sharply in an almost animalistic motion- like an predator listening for prey, and taking in the sight in front of him; Dean clearly holding someone hostage even if no gun was on show (the look of careful blankness on Reid's face probably gave it away), and JJ standing with her back facing Sam, gun pointed at Dean.

Sam took everything in within a matter of moments and, although looking slightly irritated as he did so, didn't waste any time silently approaching JJ while she was distracted in a staring contest with Dean.

There was the distinct click of a guns safety being turned off, the sound of someone clearing their throat and a look of dread washing over the Agent's face. God he loved Sammy's timing, even though the convenience of it all made it clear that he'd followed Dean to the bar and then skulked around without Dean noticing, which either spoke for Dean's spatial awareness or Sam's stalking skills.

It was hard to focus on the details of it all right now though, and seriously, it made them both look so much cooler when they could nail an entrance. Not that having a gun pointed at someone's head is really 'nailing an entrance' but it's better than being shot himself, so Dean will take what he can get.

Even as Sam glared at him over JJ's shoulder, and despite their objectively shitty situation, Dean had to raise the hand he had on Reid's shoulder to cover the hysterical grin slipping onto his face, adrenaline making it difficult to keep a straight face.

He sobered up quickly though, catching Sam's intense gaze and watching his eyes flicking frantically between the Impala and Dean, it might've been funny in a different situation but Dean knew what Sam was trying to say.

They had got to move this someplace else before anyone else emerged from the bar.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Pls ignore if the criminal minds timeline is messed up :,) I can't remember when JJ had Henry so just correct it in ur head or ignore it 🙏🏻

Earlier that day
---
Morgan and Rossi returned to the station after a dead end at the trail maintenance shack, getting back just before nine o'clock; shortly after the bomb had been dropped that there was apparently another Agent working the same case as them.

An Agent none of them had heard of before.

"Garcia, check the data logs for any 'Agent Daniels', maybe this was just a miscommunication." Hotch barked out the order in a way that made the team wince, they were all thinking the same thing- the FBI doesn't make these kinds of mistakes.

"Sir, there's nothing on any Agent Daniels, we don't even have one working with us." Garcia forced out, her voice didn't break but it was a near thing. Morgan frowned at the clear distress in her tone and took his phone off speaker, backing away from the group to talk to her in private. Hotch caught the movement, an apologetic look flashing in his eyes, but it quickly shifted back into the familiar stern expression as he spun around to face the officer they'd been talking to.

"We need to check the CCTV for inside the station." The man before Hotch, Chief officer Reynolds, practically trembled with nerves. Guilt twisting his face into something uncomfortable to look at.

"That's... Not going to be possible, we had a black out a couple nights ago and haven't had time to repair the damage done to the cameras." Morgan commended the man for telling the truth, he himself was still waiting the situation out in the corner (definitely not hiding).

Nobody dared to speak, cautious looks flew between Agents and officers alike, all too anxious for Hotch's reaction to speak up. Eventually JJ just sighed, accepting that she'd be the one to break the awkward silence.

"Do any of the outdoor cameras still work?" She prompted, desperately hoping some good could still come of this, they needed something to help them identify this guy and maybe his face was shown on camera.

"Possibly, I'll check the system." Reynolds sent a grateful smile JJ's way before rushing off to a desk near the back of the station, the team slowly trail behind him, watching closely for any kind of reaction. What they get is somewhat confusing; a bright grin lighting up his face and then falling just as quickly.

By this point everyone is crowded around the monitor, straining their eyes as if they could make the back of the man's head turn around through sheer willpower.

The brunette just keeps walking though, the footage making him look shorter than JJ remembers him being. Despite her internally commenting on the height and youthful hairstyle of the man, JJ can't remember anything particularly notable about his features- no large scars or tattoos, attractive faces are so much harder to recall than people would think.

"Well, it's definitely him." JJ muttered to herself, at least they had some idea of what he looked like, even if it wasn't a lot to go off.

"Look, the Chief is real sorry. How about you lot join us for a drink, our treat." An officer pipes up from the corner of the room, not one that any of the team remembered speaking to before, his badge reads 'Officer Barron'. The man steps forward as he speaks, clapping a hand on Officer Reynolds shoulder in an almost intimidating fashion.

"We have a case to work, there's really no time for drinks." Rossi says, sounding disappointed despite knowing that they only have a couple days before their killer strikes again and disappears into the night.

"Just this once? We just wanna show how sorry we are." His insistence could've been mistaken for camaraderie if it weren't for the fact Reid would swear that his smile seemed unnaturally wide, showing off sharp, white canines that prickled inside his mouth.

Maybe Hotch sees the same thing, Reid tries to read his face but it's wearing a pinched tightness that's impossible to penetrate. He frowns impossibly more, sighs, and then gestures for JJ to follow him. She shares an equal had to read expression, they're probably thinking the same thing, whatever that is.

"It's possible Officer Barron is stalling for time, trying to delay the investigation as long as possible." JJ nods along as Hotch speaks, in all honesty she'd been thinking the same thing, the man had been eyeing her weirdly since they'd got here and it was starting to make her uncomfortable. "If we keep refusing his invitation then he might catch on that we're suspicious so our best bet is to send someone with them." Hotch jerks his head back towards the group of officers that had congregated next to their team, Barron standing right in the centre and looking directly at the pair, JJ whips her head back around immediately.

"You're asking me, right?" JJ hated how much sense it made, she still had the most experience with communication and if Barron really was involved in this case somehow then JJ was exactly his type. Even if he wanted the whole team distracted, he would gladly settle for getting JJ alone.

She bites back the disgust that bubbles in her stomach.

"I don't want to you to go either, but it's the only logical thing to do." Hotch hates putting his team in sketchy situations like this but he can't have Officer Barron panicking and running, he's their only possible lead besides the man on the CCTV. JJ sucks in a breath and agrees, her eyes only portraying the slightest bit of worry before it's shut down firmly.

The pair return to the small gathering of people, Hotch turns to Barron, addressing him personally.

"We can't send everyone due to our workload but, JJ will accompany you for drinks." He says, one hand gently pressing between her shoulder blades. JJ takes the act as what it's intended to be, comfort.

Officer Barron's eyes light up, the large grin slipping back onto his face, one look around the room shows that none of the Agents are particularly happy with this result. Reid's mind starts frantically working through the possibilities for danger. What are the chances Barron was their killer? What are the chances JJ and him would be alone at some point? What are the chances that he'd ki-

Reid cuts off that line of thought.

"I'll come too, if that's okay. The more the merrier, right?" He says instead, colouring his words with as much false pep as he can manage. JJ looks momentarily stunned but, after a second, the surprise dissolves into a more relaxed smile.

"Yeah of course, we won't keep you too long, wouldn't want to stunt your investigation." Officer Barron replies with a disconcerting laugh, JJ and Reid just smile back silently. While Reid wasn't her first choice for a drinking partner, JJ couldn't say she didn't appreciate the company. At least this lessened the time she'd have to spend along with Barron.

The group hover around for a little bit longer and agree to meet at a bar called 'The Lucky Trickster' in around half an hour, giving JJ and the team enough time to formulate some sort of plan if things start going wrong.

It's not as much of a plan as it is 'get the hell out if you think he wants to kill you'. Sending in the teams physically weakest member and the one person that fits their unsubs victim type would usually be a half-cocked move but right now they need to work the case and having Officer Barron around trying to disrupt them could cost another innocent girl their life.

So off they go, the pair take one of the police issued cars used for going undercover or stakeouts. JJ drives slower than normal, every part of her screaming to just turn the car around and drive away. In her years as an Agent with the BAU, JJ has learnt to trust her gut but here she is, doing everything in her power to ignore the growing dread.

"I can't believe you volunteered for this, doesn't really sound like your scene." JJ jokes, trying her best to keep the mood in the vehicle light.

"Yeah well... I can get on board with quite a lot if it can help people I care about." The reply from Reid is characteristically blunt and honest, it settles something in JJ's stomach, giving her the chance to catch her breath.

"Thanks, Spence." She murmurs back, the words are quiet but the tiny smile Reid shoots her is enough confirmation that he heard.

It only takes about ten minutes to drive to the bar, they probably could've walked but an unspoken agreement had passed between the pair previously; they'd wanted a quick way to escape if necessary.

Reid grew up in LA, he'd had plenty of experience in bars and so he could safely declare 'The Lucky Trickster' to be a total dump. The building had all the hallmarks of being abandoned but someone entered before them- the open door letting out a steady stream of chatter despite the fact it was still early in the day. Reid and JJ catch the door before it swings shut and step inside.

The smell of the place was one of the first things JJ noticed, the air was thick with smoke and the undeniable stench of alcohol, it was five o'clock somewhere she supposed. She weaved through the drunken crowd of people with Reid following closely behind her. Finding Barron and the other officers wasn't too difficult, they were loud and shockingly boisterous for people with a serial killer on their hands.

The duo headed over, waving once they got close enough for the group to notice them.

Barron was standing next to the man that had escorted JJ and Hotch from the Prest's house, Officer Brown, the two men look up and catch sight of Reid and JJ. Only one of their smiles seems genuine, the other looking far more predatory that JJ was comfortable with.

Once they got close enough, it was easy to hear what the men had been discussing before they got there (that was another thing JJ noticed; there wasn't a single woman mingling with the group). Discussing would be an overstatement, it actually sounded more like complaining.

About their wives and kids, go figure.

The only one not really participating in the conversation was Officer Brown, probably because he was still young and yet to get hitched. But still, his wide imploring eyes tracked the gossip eagerly, clearly wanting to win over his seniors. By now both JJ and Reid were almost inside of the congregation of men, and Barron was quickly shuffling his way over the them.

"Don't mind these guys, kids can drive a person crazy... You got any of your own ankle biters?" Maybe it really was just an attempt to include them in the debate, but the question seemed entirely directed at JJ, leaving Reid feeling that familiar sense of unease. Barron raked his eyes over JJ as he spoke, a look on his face that could only be described as 'leering'. JJ took a step back, subconsciously folding her arms over her stomach.

"I've got a son, my husband is looking after him right now." She replied firmly, relying on her knowledge of guys like this and trying to believe that the mention of another man in her life would make him back off a little.

And he did, at least partially, the hungry look in his eyes seemed to fade back though it didn't disappear entirely, it was replaced with a sort of dismissive irritation. JJ took that as her cue to leave under the guise of getting a drink, she muttered as much to Reid and hoped he could forgive her for abandoning him with the officers. Reid seemed understanding, if not glad, to have JJ removed from the situation.

She heads straight to the bar top, trying to avoid any contact with the swirling crowd as she slid onto a stool by the counter and ordered a water. It wasn't long before a young man approached, claiming the seat directly beside her. JJ groaned internally, had one of the officers come to harrass her again? A quick glance to the side disproved that theory, the man next to her was tall-ish, with dirty blonde hair and a face too pretty to be in a place like this.

He ordered a beer without a single look at JJ and she couldn't help feeling relieved, the guy seemed kind of down, and most likely not in the mood to be hitting on random women. The two settle into a comfortable bubble of silence, content to ignore the noise in the building and each other. He ordered a couple more drinks in rapid succession and downs them all within minutes, JJ is sort of impressed, and concerned for his liver, but mostly impressed.

It's not until the bartender comes over again and strikes up a conversation with the blonde that JJ takes any real notice of him besides his appearance. It starts normal enough, some obvious flirting to catch the guys attention, but the title tacked onto the end made JJ pause. Agent? She turned to face him, ignoring the fact that the move made her look a little odd.

The feeling of being watched crept up on JJ so slowly she almost didn't realise what was happening, but the second she turned her attention onto the man it hit her in an overwhelming wave. It was like every single pair of eyes in the bar had been drawn to her, which JJ knew wasn't the case but seriously, the sensation was so intense it was amazing that she'd only just noticed. She chalked it up to Barron being weirdly intense again and kept listening to the chatter between the people in front of her until she couldn't stay quiet any longer.

"You're FBI?" JJ only half listened to his response, something so easily smooth that it gave off an air of disinterest.

"What team are you on?" She doesn't know why she asked, maybe she was desperate to know that whatever weird paranoia bubbling in her mind was just that; paranoia.

The skin crawling feeling of being watched was growing by the second and JJ really just wanted to get out of there but she couldn't, not if this was connected to the murders somehow. How could it not be? Two unknown Agents showing up on the same day asking around about their case, it was suspicious and JJ couldn't ignore it.

She was just about to ask if the man knew anyone by the name of Agent Daniels, the words sitting on the tip of her tongue, when Reid shows up, he looks hesitant and JJ suddenly feels a stab of guilt for leaving him with a bunch of rowdy middle aged men. Any regret she felt slowly trickled into unease as she catches the colour draining from Reid's skin, he's staring at the man next to her with an unsettling look of panic on his face.

"Hey JJ, could you come with me a second? I need some air." Reid's words were concerningly vague and his eyes were still flicking between her and the man now looking at him with a hard frown on his face. JJ doesn't object, quickly rising to her feet and ushering Reid out the bar. It wasn't a hardship for her since she'd wanted to leave almost the second she entered the place.

Reid dragged her out the way of the door as soon as they were outside, answering her confused demands to know what was happening with more infuriating vagueness about criminals that should be dead.

Dean Winchester and his brother Samuel to be specific.

JJ had never worked on their case personally but she knew Hotch had been called in to consult with Victor Hendriksen a while back, the Agent died in a gas leak explosion shortly after catching the Winchesters. The two men were meant to have died alongside him and some other staff but it wasn't the first time they'd faked their deaths so JJ supposed it made sense.

So caught up in her own thoughts, JJ didn't notice the man with the gun approaching Reid until it was too late. Well, it was definitely Dean Winchester. JJ had seen his mugshot not too long ago on some serial killer fan page they'd been looking into, muscle memory kicked in without thinking and within seconds JJ had her own gun pointed at the man. It was then that she felt the cold metal muzzle pressing into the back of her skull, her aim faltered as her attacker pressed closer to her ear.

"You should probably lower that gun now, Jennifer." The unidentified voice was collected in every way JJ knew she wasn't, these guys clearly had the upper hand here.

And so with a shaky breath, she lowered her gun.